


Wild Hearts

by coffeeandcas



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 15:46:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10700109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeandcas/pseuds/coffeeandcas
Summary: A brief glimpse into Jesus and Daryl's tentative relationship following Daryl's return from his time spent with The Saviours. Jesus is on hand to offer comfort in a time when Daryl needs it the most.Set some time after 07x08 "Hearts Still Beating".





	Wild Hearts

“What happened?”

Jesus’ voice is soft and calm in his ear, and Daryl can feel his heart rate steadily slow to almost normal. He clenches and unclenches his fists, feeling the sheets twist beneath his fingertips, and he’s chilled despite the balmy evening. The sweat on his skin is cooling now, and the warm fingers of his friend wiping it away from his brow ease his troubled mind instead of exacerbating his fears. The room isn’t as dark as it seemed when his eyes flew open. He isn’t as alone as he thought he was. He isn’t there, back in that room, alone and cold and shivering, listening to the pounding of feet outside the door and laughter, cold laughter filtering through under the gap. He isn’t there. He’s here, back in Alexandria, back home, and he’s not alone any more. Negan can't get to him here. He's _safe_.

Jesus gently brushes his damp hair off his forehead and runs a thumb over Daryl’s cheekbone. The younger man is sitting next to him on the bed, one leg folded neatly beneath him, and Daryl turns in the semi-darkness to look at him. He's in soft sleep pants and a white Henley, his hair twisted up off his face, and he has that concerned sweetness in his eyes that makes Daryl’s heart skip a beat or two. It was that look that has drawn him to Jesus in the first place. And now he can't seem to pull himself away.

“What happened?” His voice is low, barely above a whisper. Jesus knows Daryl can react like a cornered beast following a nightmare, so he always treads with caution. He lowers his hand and takes Daryl’s instead, slowly prising the sheets from his trembling fingers and rubbing circles into his palm.

“Nothin’ much. Was back there. Dark, lotsa noise.” Daryl ducks his head, suddenly incredibly interested in the pattern of his duvet. “Stupid really. You can go. ‘M fine.”

“I'm sure you are.” Jesus lifts the older man’s hand, calloused and rough from years of camping, living wild, and slaying walkers with his beloved crossbow, and lowers it into his lap, envelopes with both of his own. Daryl just stares at where their skin touches. “But if you don't mind, I'd like to stay. I sleep a lot better when I'm not on my own. Is that all right?”

A grunt is his only response, but it’s affirmative. Jesus shifts and draws back the covers, crawling in next to the hunter who lies down on his side to face him, curling his hands close to his chest and making sure that a decent gap resides between them. Jesus lies on his right, drawing the covers up over them both and settling in for the night. It has to be this way. Whenever he stays over with Daryl, it has to seem like it’s him who needs the comfort, not the hunter. Daryl will never allow himself to sound weak or needy, despite constant and insistent reassurances from Jesus that it’s all right to do so. He probably never will be comfortable with it, but that’s all right. Jesus is working it out.

They listen to each other breathe for a long time, as the light changes outside and the shadows across the ceiling begin to fade. Slowly, so slowly that the movement is almost imperceptible, Daryl reaches between them to take Jesus’ hand in his own. The tremors have stopped now, and as they gaze at each other Jesus feels the familiar tightening in his throat and his heart pounds in his ears. He loves this damaged, brave, valiant man so much it physically hurts him. He wonders, as he does every night, if he will ever be able to tell him. Daryl is so skittish even on a good day, that any word beginning with L is likely to scare him off into the woods for days. As Jesus shifts a little closer, so close now that they share breath, Daryl flushes and closes his eyes, but he doesn’t push the other man away. Baby steps. Jesus tries to close his eyes too, but he can’t stop staring at the hunter, taking in the lines of his face and the curl of his hair. He wishes Daryl knew how innately good he is, and how much he has to give. He’s so lost in soaking up every inch of the man before him that he doesn’t notice Daryl’s grip tightening just a little and the sharp intake of breath before he speaks.

“Why're you so sweet on me?”

Daryl’s voice is barely audible, and Jesus almost misses the husky words, swallowing hard when they hit home. Daryl never asks him things like this, not unless he really needs to hear the answer. His nightmare was probably much worse than he let on, and Jesus curses himself for not realising. He traces the older man’s jaw with a fingertip wishing he would open his eyes.

“I don't know why. I can't articulate it. You know that.” Jesus takes a chance, leans in and presses their lips together just for a second. It's long enough for Daryl to respond, but not so long that he feels pressured. It's chaste and quick, and so rare that Jesus cherishes every millisecond. “I’m just drawn to you. I feel like I knew you before we even met.”

“Shut it.” Its gruff, not said with any ire at all; Daryl blushes and Jesus smiles.

“I mean it, Daryl. I was waiting for you to find me. For your wild heart to find mine.”

Daryl falls asleep a while later, and Jesus just watches the steady rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathes. Their only contact now is their linked hands beneath the covers, and it's more than Jesus ever hoped for but so much less than he truly wants.

But for now, it's everything he has.

Dawn breaks, and when Jesus slowly comes back to himself in a warm bed with shafts of sunlight playing across his face, making him squint and rub his tired eyes, he doesn't have to check beside him to know. Daryl is long gone.

**Author's Note:**

> Customary tumblr plug: <http://coffeeandcas.tumblr.com>. Drop me a message on there if you have a prompt or a headcanon you'd like exploring.


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